Batgirl Falling
by hobbitgrl
Summary: Sequel to Forbidden, this starts with the events of The Killing Joke and quickly unfolds in an AU as Barb and Bruce deal with their relationship and the consequences.  I don't believe in fanfic without smut.  This is rated M for graphic everything.
1. Chapter 1

Batgirl Falling

**A/N: I'm not good enough to write this story well, but I want to read it so…guess I'll do it anyway J This is a sequel to _Forbidden_ and it will help (a lot) if you've read _The Killing Joke_. I'm citing it here because I'm lifting dialogue directly from it's pages. Not much and only in these first two chapters, but this is my citation. (Alan Moore I'm still broken up with you!)**

**Chapter 1**

"Hi Colleen," Barb said into the phone as she heard her dad come in. "Right, 8 O'clock."

"Do you want to drive tonight?" Colleen's voice asked into her ear.

"What?" Barb asked, distracted by the oven timer going off. "No, no would you mind picking me up?"

"No problem. See you then!" Barb was already hanging up and moving towards the kitchen. Why did she cook lasagna tonight? Why did she think she _could_ cook lasagna?

"Smells good Barbara," her dad told her as she crossed the living room into the kitchen.

"Thanks Dad." She opened the oven door and pulled the dish out, a small frown on her face. It wasn't near as pretty as Alfred's, but she thought it was still edible. She set the pan on top of the stove her mind drifting while she set the table.

She'd spent more nights with Bruce than without recently. They'd caught the Joker and put him away again. But he'd already made his escape. Again. When they weren't in costume-a blush suffused her cheeks as she thought of just what they had been doing out of costume. In the cave, in his room-they tried once in the Batmobile but she'd kicked the gear shift and hit some button with her ass that nearly launched the rockets at downtown. But it had been good. It had been great in fact, and had already lasted much longer than Barb thought possible. After all, how long could Bruce really be happy with anyone?

She bit her lip and pushed that thought away. Seemed like she'd been doing that for weeks now, fighting her own ghosts; Bruce would break up with her soon enough, she didn't need to anticipate it. The lasagna pan slipped in her grip, nearly crashing onto the table.

"God dammit," Barb cursed at herself quietly.

"What was that?" her dad called from the other room.

"Nothing Dad," she replied sweetly. She smiled ruefully at the beaten down table in the kitchen and pushed her thoughts of Bruce out of her head. As she picked up the knife and cut the lasagna she willed herself to think only about things she could share with her dad. This was their night; she had worked hard to ensure they both had time to share a meal together and she was going to make damned sure they enjoyed it.

"Dinner's ready!" she announced. As her dad came around the corner she pasted a smile on her face and sat down to eat.

An hour later they had eaten, washed up, and pulled out her dad's scrapbook for some new additions. Barb could hear him mumbling to himself while she poured boiling water into two mugs and stirred in the chocolate.

"What Dad?" she asked, putting the mugs on trays.

"I _hate_ this. Whenever we jail him, I think "please God, keep him there." Then he escapes and we all sit round hoping he won't do anything too awful this time." Jim Gordon paused, scissors forgotten in his hand for an instant while he stared unblinking at the newspaper. "I _hate_ it."

Barb sighed as she set the tray down on the coffee table. The Joker had escaped again-that was something she absolutely didn't want to think about right now. She just wanted these few hours to relax, to enjoy spending time with her father.

"Dad, just once could you leave your work at the office and relax? I made you cocoa." She was going to have to head back to the cave later. They would need to start another hunt for the Joker.

"Thank you sweetheart. I'll drink it when I've pasted this latest clipping in," her dad told her.

"Y'know, I found that Catwoman scrapbook you said was missing. It was behind the wardrobe," Barbara gently chided. "Some day you ought to let me work out a proper filing system, like we used at the library."

Her father's only response was a noncommittal sound as he devoted all of his attention to the clipping, slathering in paste.

"Urrgh. Look, you've used too much paste!" Barbara told him. "It's all squidging under the edges of the clipping. You're going to get it on your pants."

Her dad studiously ignored her as he smoothed the newspaper onto the scrapbook paper.

"Barbara, you're fussier than your mother wa…" a knock interrupted him.

"Was that the door?" he asked. Barbara picked up her cocoa and headed towards the door. Was it 8 already? She wouldn't have time for yoga tonight, not with the Joker loose. She'd have to find someway to beg off without her dad hearing.

"Yeah," Barb answered finally answered him. "It'll be Colleen from across the street. Tonight's our yoga class. C'mon Dad, company! Put your scrapbooks away."

Jim Gordon didn't answer, lost in memory. "Heh, look at this one. First time they met. Now what year was that?"

It felt like the Joker had always been in her life, destroying it, but Barb forced a grin as she reached the door, turning back towards her father.

"Well, I remember you describing the white face and the green hair when I was a kid. Scared the hell out of me," she told him.

"I thought you'd be interested…" her dad said quietly.

"Yeah, well, I had some interesting nightmares," Barb told him opening the door. He would never know the nightmares from reality had been so much worse.

She stood in front of the door dumbly, her brain not processing what she saw. Outside-he had a gun-how was he at her house? How did he know? A shot tore through the air. Barb felt like something punched her in the gut and she was flying backwards, coffee cup falling from her hand. It was going to stain the carpet-that was a stupid thing to think about just then.

The coffee table exploded as she crashed into it and then there was only pain, her hands clutching futilely at her stomach. She had to get up, save her dad. The Joker was there, at her door. He'd kicked her? No, that wasn't right. Why couldn't she get up? There was only the pain, tears running down the side of her face as her body tried to process what was happening. Why hadn't she stopped him? Why…

"Barb?" her dad whispered above her, but then he was gone. She could hear…_him_…that psychopath laughing, her dad's grunts as he was hit over and over again. Why couldn't she get up? What was wrong with her? What was wrong with her body?

The Joker came into her line of vision, his sneering visage the only thing she could see. He reached down and started unbuttoning her blouse, and she couldn't stop him. She couldn't move her hands away from the burning pain in her abdomen. Had to keep pressure, had to…

As slimy white hands caressed her breasts, pushing at her bra Barb felt something break inside her. She couldn't move. She couldn't stop the Joker, couldn't save her dad. All of her training, all of her years on the streets by Bruce's side and now-not like this, she thought. Not like this.

"Why are you…duh..doing..this?" she gasped through the pain.

"To prove a point. Here's to crime," he toasted her as he ripped the shirt off her body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A/N: Again I take no credit for the dialogue I lifted out of the _Killing Joke_.**

Bruce couldn't feel anything. He thought he would be angry, blindingly, overwhelmingly angry; he should be angry, but he just…wasn't. He felt nothing. He'd met some young detective on the roof of the police station, ready to take off after Gordon when he went cold. _Barbara_. _Shot_. _Gotham Central_. He didn't care that she was a witness. He'd jumped off the building and torn into the hospital, but he couldn't feel anything. She was okay. She was strong, stronger than she knew. It wasn't real, wasn't permanent. She would heal. They always healed.

"The bullet went through her spine. I'm afraid her legs are completely useless. Putting it bluntly she may well be in a chair for the remainder of her life." The doctor's voice prompted no response from him, no feeling. He stared at her unconscious body as they pulled the sheets up, unwilling to hear what they were telling him.

"Some woman inna same yoga class as Miss Gordon found her, name of Colleen Reece," Bullock told him. "She found the, uh, victim, in a state of undress, but otherwise the place was empty. The commissioner was…"

"Undress?" his voice seemed to speak without him. It was completely lifeless, cutting across Bullock's.

Bullock puffed on his cigar, his eyes bugging out. "They didn't tell you? He'd removed her clothing after shooting her. We, uh…well, we found a lens cap on the floor that didn't fit any camera in the place. We believe that, uhh…well, that he took some pictures. Of her."

Bullock suddenly backtracked, trying to make it better. "Jeez, look, really, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. It's pretty sick, ain't it?" Bruce could hear it in his voice, the question, the wonder. Bullock wanted to know why he cared-the detective thought the Batman was upset because the Joker had struck again. He didn't know, didn't understand that he was Bruce and this was Barbara-_his_ Barbara. If Bruce felt anything, could feel anything in this moment he might have killed Bullock right then. Just for not understanding.

"Yes." His voice was speaking again without him, while his body smashed the card in his hand. "Pretty sick. Please leave us alone for a moment."

Batman waited after the door clicked shut behind Bullock. He stood over her, looking down at her prone form waiting to feel something, anything. She looked so small lying there-had she always been that small? How had this happened? How had she let this happen? Why didn't she duck? She would heal, and he would train her better.

"Barbara?" he whispered, touching her check gently. "Barbara can you hear me? It's me. It's Bruce."

"Bruce…?" she whispered. She was groggy for only an instant before her eyes went wide with terror. She reached up and grabbed him, wrapping herself around him, clinging to him as the words tumbled out.

"Bruce…it was him…took Dad…h-he…" Her fingers clawed at his cape as tears filled her eyes. "Oh God! Oh God, I remember! Oh, Bruce, what he did…"

"Barbara, take it easy. It's okay…" Bruce was lowering her back to the bed. She was going to be okay. He would make her okay.

"No!" she screamed at him. "No, it's not okay! He's…he's taking it to the limit this time… you didn't see. You didn't see his eyes. H-he said he wanted to puh-prove a point…said…Dad was…top of the bill…wh-what's he doing to him Bruce? What's he doing to my father?"

Bruce reached up and gently pried her hands from his cape, shushing her as he pushed the morphine button. He could feel her pain in the trembling of her body; feel her broken spine in his hands when he held her. It was too much, too, too much. He couldn't be there, couldn't just sit there and do nothing. He needed to catch the Joker, needed to save her father.

He needed to fix this.

Waynetech had a spinal injury research division. He was sure of it. If they didn't, he would make one. They would figure this out. His back had healed, so would hers. He didn't care if he had to go to the JLA for help, there had to be an answer. There was always an answer.

When the morphine took effect she lay back down into a fitful sleep. Bruce gently kissed her forehead and them left, back into the night. He would fix this.

Barbara woke again to the sound of hushed voices outside her door. Bullock was back; she could smell the stale stench of cigar through the door. She remembered Bruce being there, but it was dulled by the morphine. Paralyzed, drugged, and forgotten Barb laid in the hospital bed and refused to cry. They would send the shrink in soon. They would talk about her "loss" and her "assault." She would very politely tell the well meaning psychologist to fuck off.

Why wasn't Bruce here? It wasn't past 3 a.m. and it was a new moon-plenty of cover for him to make it into the window without being seen. He hadn't even seemed that upset, but she couldn't trust the memory. She couldn't trust anything right now, not her body, not her power, and certainly not Bruce. Would he leave her now? He'd make sure some department in Waynetech fixed her back; Alfred would bring flowers.

There was a good chance she would never see Bruce again. Tragedy wasn't his thing.

But she would not cry. She would heal, and she would walk. She would not be like this forever. Barbara didn't even feel the sob as it pushed out of her chest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Bruce felt nothing as he watched her through his binoculars. She was lying still on the bed, staring at the ceiling. What was she thinking about? He should have handled it better earlier. Should have said something, let her cry-scream if she wanted too-but Gordon was still missing and he had a job to do. He always had a job to do. Part of him was dying to swing over there, crawl through the window and-and-and what? Hell if he knew. He could hold her hand. He could be there. He knew that was what people did. But what did he know about what other people did. He had never been the nurturing sort. Sure he had Dick his fair share of times, but it was Alfred that put them all back together. It was always Alfred that fixed people. Not Batman. The Batman was an instrument. But his was Barb, his sweet Barbara and he owed her more than this.

He felt something tighten jut behind his solar plexus when she started screaming at the ceiling. Tears streamed down her cheeks onto the pillow, her fists clenched as she screamed and screamed and screamed. The nurses ran in, pushing the needle into her IV and pumping her full of sedative, but it didn't take effect immediately. He watched them offer useless platitudes, stroke her arms as if she were an animal that needed soothing. She didn't strike at them, even paralyzed she could have incapacitated every single person in the room, but she just lay there and screamed at the ceiling.

Bruce knew he felt something. He could feel the presence of the feeling even if he wouldn't let himself what it was. As she finally started to calm down, he shot the grappling gun and swung away into the night. There was nothing he could do for her until the morning. In the morning he would have Alfred visit her, and begin ordering people into researching spinal injuries. Stem cells maybe-there had been some promising results recently. Maybe alien technology on the Watchtower; he would fix this.

He didn't sleep that night, or the night after. Alfred had gone to see Barbara twice, staying for hours talking and keeping her company, but Bruce let himself become the Batman. Working constantly, he divided his time between taking all of the Joker's known associates off the streets for good, and researching the most recent medical trials in spinal recovery. The results weren't promising, but he had faced far worse than this. For as often as everyone came back to life, it would stand to reason one of them could figure out a little nerve rebuilding.

He was starting to hallucinate when he called Clark. He would have to sleep soon, only a few hours, but he still hated the time his body forced him to lose.

"This is Kent."

"I need something." Clark answered him with a snort.

"Hello to you too," Clark mocked him. Bruce didn't waste time bantering. He had no patience for Kent's genial ways.

"I need all the information we have on medical procedures, alien and human," Bruce told him.

"You mean Kryptonian don't you?" Clark asked with a sigh. "You already have access to the Watchtower database, but you want me to take you up north."

"Yes." There was silence on the line for three heartbeats. If Kent agreed he would sleep in the air-no time lost. He was already planning what he would do with the Kryptonian information when Clark cut him off.

"No."

"No is not an option," Bruce ordered him.

"Wait, why are you so angry?" Clark asked him.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time reading my blood pressure." Bruce's voice was soft now, more a growl than human.

"What do you need it for?"

"Kent," he ground out, already considering how he could use the Kryptonite to force Kent into helping, "have I ever asked you for something that wasn't important?"

"Of course not," Clark answered him, "but Kryptonian technology-"

"Is incredibly advanced," Bruce cut him off. "I need to take a look at it. I'm asking for your help. As a friend." Not for the first time Bruce wished he could just punch him.

"Alright," Clark finally answered. "When do you want to leave?"

"Now." He hung up before listening to Kent's reply.

It was a half hour before Clark finally showed up at the cave; Bruce was already dressed for the artic.

"You're late."

"Some of us aren't private billionaires," Clark joked, but his smile dissipated as Bruce approached him. "Bruce, what is wrong?"

"I'm going to nap on the way up," Bruce told him, ignoring the question. As Clark picked him up and lifted off, there was finally only silence.

It was another three days before Diana showed up. She was standing there, in his cave, waiting for him when he returned from that night's patrol. Alfred was standing by, studiously studying the tray he held.

"Bruce, Clark told me you were interested in Themysciran medical practices." Her voice always got to him. So smooth, she sounded like she didn't need to breathe-as if she spoke instead of sang only because she knew the beauty would destroy everyone around her. Diana sounded nothing like Barbara; Barbara's voice was always changing-lower when she was mad at him. Husky when he was in her. When she whispered in his ear it was suddenly as if her voice controlled him, a string that lifted all his power, all his responsibility from his shoulders.

He felt himself start to swell painfully as the Kevlar restricted him. Visions of Barbara-under him, riding him, in front of him, twisted around him-bombarded him, refusing to let his body go. The arousal made him furious. What the hell was wrong with him? How could he be aroused when Barb was lying in a hospital bed somewhere, paralyzed?

"Bruce?" Diana interrupted his thoughts. "Bruce what is wrong?"

Bruce turned on her snarling, something inside of him breaking, snapping apart in the middle and ricocheting around his brain.

"How often do I ask for anything?" he growled, "from any of you? Give me what I need Diana, and stay the hell out of my life."

He spun away from her, but he could guess what her face looked like. Probably something similar to Alfred's. Horror and pain and expectation as if he had only done what they knew he would but wished he couldn't.

"Can I have the information or not?" he flung over his shoulder.

"Of course Bruce," she told him graciously. "I will have it to you by the morning."

Alfred set his tray on the computer console and left the cave, never saying a word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He hadn't spoken to Alfred in a week. Not since he had screamed at Diana. Dick had come over cajoling, pleading, even yelling in an effort to get Bruce to talk. Tim had tried after Dick. None of them met with success. He wasn't sure anymore when he last slept. He had passed out a few days after his trip with Clark, and it had been three, no four days since then. Maybe. None of that mattered. What mattered was he thought he had an idea.

Standing up from the chair he felt his legs cramp. How long had he been sitting there. He felt something from his stomach, hunger maybe? He would eat soon. How long had it been since he last had something? He took one step and his leg tightened beneath him. He croaked a surprise as he collapsed. Before he passed out completely he spared a curse for no superpowers. His damn mortality was betraying him. Again.

He came to in his bedroom with an IV in his arm. Alfred, Tim, and Dick stood around him sprawled across chairs and the floor. It was Tim that noticed he was awake first. Tim said nothing, only leaped for the bed as Bruce went to dislodge the needle.

"Leave it!" Tim shouted as he got a grip on both of Bruce's hands. Alfred and Dick immediately woke up, looking around confusedly before their eyes locked on him.

"You pull that IV out, and I kill you myself," Dick said simply. It took Bruce a moment to realize there was no humor in his voice.

"I don't have time for that," he tried to reply. His voice sounded funny, even more gravel in it than usual as if he hadn't talked in days. "What day is it?"

"This is Thursday," Alfred told him. "You passed out Wednesday morning. You have slept for at least twenty-seven hours at last count."

Trying to shake Tim's grip, Bruce sat up but had to sit back when vertigo overtook him.

"You're no good to anyone dead," Dick stated.

"Stop being hyperbolic," Bruce ordered

Dick ignored him. "You hadn't eaten in three days. You hadn't slept in four. Your body was shutting down Bruce, doing it's best to keep you alive. We've been pumping you full of fluids and nutrients, but you need to eat some solid food and sleep another few hours before you'll be any good to anyone."

"I've figured out how to fix Barb," he finally admitted. He realized he wasn't going to get out of this bed by himself, but surely once they realized what he was doing they would help him.

"Bruce," Dick sighed, "her spinal cord was completely severed by the bullet."

"You don't think I knew that?" Bruce growled.

"Well you better tell one of us what you've figured out," Tim cut in, "and we'll relay the good news."

"I'll tell her myself once you all stop mothering me and let me out of bed," Bruce replied.

"Miss Gordon has expressed, strongly I might add, that we do our level best to keep you from visiting her," Alfred told him.

Bruce sat there poleaxed. Surely he hadn't heard Alfred correctly. He stared blankly up at the three of them and met only disapproval in each of their gazes.

"I don't," he stopped, licking his lips and trying for some moisture in his mouth, "I don't understand."

"It's almost been two full weeks, and you haven't been to see her once," Dick informed him. "You didn't even have the decency to relay a message through Alfred or one of us." There wasn't only disapproval in Dick's eyes, but barely contained rage-killing rage.

"I've been working on an experimental surgery that-"

"Fuck your surgery Bruce!" Dick shouted. "You should have been there! You should have been with her!"

Bruce shifted his gaze and stared silently at the wall.

"Dick let's go for a walk," Tim urged him. Dick shook him off and got in Bruce's face.

"You," he snarled, "how could you do this to her? How could you…_use_ her like that? What was she, the playmate of the month?"

Nobody had time to react. Nearly dead or not, Bruce was still ten times faster than all of them. Combined.

Without saying a word he wrapped his hand around Dick's neck and swung the slimmer man over him and onto the bed. Reaching back with his other hand he got in four good punches before Tim wrapped himself around his arm, and Alfred shoved himself between them. Bruce wasn't even breathing heavy.

"Master Tim," Alfred said across the silence, "would you please escort Master Dick to the infirmary and tend to his nose, cheek, and lip?"

"Of course Alfred," Tim answered quietly. He held onto Bruce's arm, though, until Alfred had fully extracted Dick from Bruce's range. As the door closed quietly behind the boys Bruce transferred his gaze to the window.

"You're out of control sir," Alfred finally told him. "I can only imagine how Master Dick's words must have angered you, but that was unacceptable. "

"I know Alfred," Bruce answered him. "He was out of line. And so was I."

"I've seen you do many things Master Bruce," Alfred continued quietly, "but I never thought attacking Master Dick would be one of them. I will tell the young masters to avoid your presence for the time being, but I'm afraid Miss Gordon was adamant in her wishes that you be kept from her presence. Do I need to call someone?"

"To control me you mean?" Bruce asked sardonically. "No. No that will not happen again."

"Very good Sir," Alfred said. "What message would you like me to relay to Miss Gordon?"

There was silence as Bruce mulled over his thoughts. Would this work? Could he be sure? Was it right to ask her, if there was a good chance it would fail? She already hated him; what more damage could he do.

"Tell her I think I can fix her back."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Bruce didn't get a response from Barbara for three days. He was back on his feet, and back on patrol. Dick still wasn't talking to him, but that wasn't a surprise. Tim tip-toed around the house, avoiding Bruce as best he could. Bruce had heard he and Alfred talking in the kitchen about Dick; apparently their attempts to persuade Dick to reconcile were unsuccessful.

Another relationship ruined. What surprised Bruce was how much it hurt, but then he had long ago accepted Dick as family. Family was different.

He was outside Barbara's apartment. She had been released from the hospital this morning, and, according to Alfred, she refused to let her dad take her anywhere but back to her own apartment. A cleaning service had tried to get the blood out of the carpet, but Bruce had come back last night and finished the job. He'd considered leaving her a note, but what would he say? How does "I'm sorry" cover abandoning a friend and lover after they're shot?

He watched as Gordon fussed over his daughter. She had more color back in her skin, but he couldn't process the wheelchair. Irrationally he kept expecting her to stand up, to wave at him from the balcony as she had so many times and invite him in to-

Bruce cut that train of thought off viciously. Dick was right. There was absolutely something wrong with him. There always had been, but to still want Barbara so-viscerally-when she was exhausted, hurting, and crippled was inappropriate. His only solace was in knowing no one would ever know, including Barbara.

He stayed as she argued with her father, finally persuading him to leave. Watched as she struggled with the cabinets, the furniture, her broken body. Kept his sights on her as she picked something up from the table, touched it to her ear, and forced the patio door open.

"I know you're out there." Her voice was an electric shock across his nerves. He felt every part of him clench and release in pleasure and agony.

"Answer me. Answer me or I swear to god I will _never_ speak to you again." She was looking right at him, though she couldn't know that. Slowly after debating the merits of letting her cut him loose, he touched his earpiece and activated it. Bruce had never believed in God, but he hoped whatever Justice watched over their world would forgive him. Forgive him for not being able to let her go.

"I'm here." The words seemed to choke in his throat. Better to say nothing at all.

"Well," Barb said, a strange note in her voice, "are you going to come talk to me or should I throw myself off the balcony and get it over with?"

He was already swinging through the night before he realized she was serious. He landed silently on the balcony ledge. She seemed so small in the chair. It made him feel…something. What did he feel?

"So what is this miracle surgery you think will fix my back?" Barb cut into this thoughts.

"Nerve regeneration," he told her, still flummoxed by the strange weight in his stomach. "Kryptonian nanites combined with a little magic should reconnect the broken nerves and, theoretically, your body could heal itself from there."

Barb gave him a nod before shifting her gaze to look out over the city.

"Do you know what the Joker did to me?" she finally asked quietly. "With the pictures. Did you know about that?"

"I did." He stayed motionless on the ledge.

"The police call it sexual assault, but there was nothing sexual in his intentions. I mean, what he did was technically sexual, but I could tell it was a pain thing. He liked that I was in pain." She paused for a moment, turning her gaze back on him. "It wasn't even about the power. He wanted to hurt me. He liked that I was hurt, and the more I cried the more he liked it."

They stayed silent for what felt like an eternity to Bruce as he tried to absorb what she said.

"I didn't know that," he finally whispered.

"I have to ask this Bruce," she replied just as quietly. "I have to ask, even though I already know. Is that why you didn't come to see me? Because we're-we were lovers?"

He dropped from the ledge, took two steps and dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his own. It took him a moment to speak, and she let him stay there, quiet and unmoving in front of her.

"That had _nothing_ to do with it," he finally ground out. There was a knot in his chest, moving up into this throat. Was it grief? This didn't feel like any grief he had ever felt, but it threatened to escape him, to explode out of his mouth, to beg Barb's forgiveness as he sobbed like a baby into her lap. He refused to lose control when she was sitting there in front of him with a severed spine. This wasn't about him; he didn't need her to console him. He was supposed to be fixing her, healing her.

"I know," she stopped and extracted one of her hands from his before reaching up to his face and pushing his mask back. He let her, though he couldn't have said why. They were exposed here on the balcony, and any other day he would never have been so careless, but this wasn't any other day. He felt powerless as she touched him, tracing the contours of his face.

"I know how you deal with things like this," she finally finished. "I knew that you had to be upset. I mean, you're not an uncaring monster. But I wasn't sure _why_ you were upset."

"What do you mean?"

"Were you upset because I was hurt?" she asked, cupping his face in her hands as she forced him to meet her gaze. "Or were you upset that the Joker struck again?"

Bruce stared at her in silence, his huge body dwarfing hers even on its knees. Why was he upset?

"Bruce," she pushed, "which was it? Me or the Joker?"

"How can you even ask that?" he answered her. "The Joker is a monster. It always hurts when he...when he commits whatever atrocity I can't stop in time. Every time he escapes I know someone is going to suffer, and every time I catch him again I know he'll escape."

"That's what I thought," Barb choked, trying to pull away from him, but Bruce caught her hands against his face.

"But what he did to you was," he stopped, unable to push the words around the knot at the base of this throat. "It's you Barb. That shouldn't have happened to you."

"How could you Bruce?" she whispered into the night. "How could you push me away in the hospital and then…"

Letting her hands slide away from his face, he reached back and pulled his cowl back on-masking his features in fabric and shadows. Leaping up onto the ledge he fired the grapple and left without looking back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Barbara called Alfred the next morning and told him she would try the surgery. She hadn't cried last night, not one tear after Bruce left, but she still felt broken inside. With a harsh chuckle she figured at least her inside matched her outside. Alfred, bless his heart, sounded excited on the phone, but she knew it wouldn't work. She knew in that place where everyone just _knows_, that she would never walk again.

She would need to get the cabinets lowered; she should probably keep the sofa for company, but the recliner could go. That was sad. She had always loved that old worn down Lazy Boy. Her father had already had her shower adjusted and she managed to clean herself with minimal exertion. That didn't matter though, she was still completely exhausted afterwards.

It was funny, she thought to herself, that she was completely incapable of physical arousal right now, but she could still remember the feeling. The tingling between her legs, the anticipation when Bruce would look at her with hooded eyes-those things didn't feel like they were impossible. That she could never wrap her legs around him again, never convulse as he moved between her thighs was someone else's life, not hers. It couldn't end this way. The Joker would not be the last person to-no, she wouldn't think of that now.

Her gaze wondered back to the balcony as it had all day. It would be so easy. She could roll herself over to the ledge, and then it was just physics. Once she levered herself up gravity would take care of the rest. Nothing else to worry about. No memories to keep her up at night. No Bruce to miss. It couldn't be called quitting. No one could say she didn't fight her fight.

But there was her dad. And Alfred. And Dick and Tim. It would kill them as surely as it would kill her, and she couldn't do that. They all still thought there was hope, and she couldn't take that from them. Not yet. They would all know soon enough.

A car arrived for her in the afternoon. Apparently this surgery was supposed to happen sooner rather than later. She didn't think it would matter all that much. She didn't know the driver, but he seemed to know his way to Wayne manor. When they arrived Alfred met her at the door. Superman and Wonder Woman were already in the cave with Bruce; she lost her breath for a moment looking at the three of them standing side by side. The atmosphere was tense; knowing Bruce he had no doubt been a peach while he concocted this little plan.

"I feel underdressed," Barbara said into the silence. Diana smiled and Clark laughed as he approached her.

"I'm going to take you on up to the Watchtower if that's okay," he explained. "We have the best equipment up there."

"That's fine," Barb replied. Her eyes found Bruce and she noticed the tired lines around his mouth and the whiskers on his chin. It looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days. Looking up she met Superman's baby blues as he lifted her easily in his arms. It was hard not to feel a slight thrill as he held her.

"Watchtower," Superman's voice rumbled in his chest, "I'm coming in with our visitor."

Barb couldn't hear the reply, but it must have been the okay because Superman nodded and then she was disintegrating and reintegrating-in orbit.

"Whoa," Barb gasped. "That was new."

Bruce and Diana appeared on either side of them, and Barb tried her level best not to look like Dorothy in Oz as she was carried through the Watchtower.

"You know the risks of what you're about to do?" Diana asked her as they turned a corner into a prep room.

"Might die. Might not work."

"Not on my watch!" Zatanna's voice interrupted. Barb turned and saw the beautiful magician hidden on the other side of the room.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm," Barb told her dryly.

"The JLA does not fail," Zatanna told her confidently.

"We'll see," Barb replied calmly. She could feel Bruce's gaze on her as Superman set her down on the bed. What if this did work? What would they do then? Barb squashed the question. It didn't matter, and she shouldn't get her hopes up. The most she could hope for was to not wake up if things did not go as planned.

"We will begin the operation momentarily," Diana informed her, "our team is beaming in now and should be ready within the hour.'

"I want to sign a DNR," Barb told them. That went over like a ton of bricks.

"You can't-" Superman immediately replied.

"It's my decision," she said, cutting off the shocked protests of everyone but Bruce.

"Understood," Bruce said into the silence. She met his gaze, but didn't let her eyes linger. Enough people were probably wondering why she merited surgery on the Watchtower and she would bet her entire savings account Bruce hadn't explained why he arranged it. When her eyes wondered to Diana's, however, she knew the wise Amazon missed nothing.

"I appreciate my privacy in everything that happens here," Barb said to the room, holding Diana's gaze.

"Of course," Diana answered her. "We will all remain discrete."

"Alright," Barb sighed. "Let's do this."

Barb dreamed through the operation.

She was in her Batgirl uniform, fighting alongside Bruce, Tim, and Dick.

She and Bruce were alone in the cave.

Alfred's voice outside the locked closet and Bruce's hand muffling her giggles, then her groans.

Talking to Dick on the rooftop of Gotham Central.

The taste of Bruce in her mouth. The feel of his stubble on her thighs.

The Joker at her door.

The Joker standing above her, laughing.

Bruce pushing her away. Bruce begging her to stay.

Waking up in the hospital.

Waking up, was that Wonder Woman looking at her? She was awake. She was really awake. Why did she hurt so much.

"Are you in pain?" Diana asked in her musical voice.

"Yes," Barb hissed as she tried to adjust her position. Diana reached down and easily lifted her up, rearranging her limbs and gown.

"Better?"

"Thank you." Barb laid her head back on the pillow and concentrated on breathing. She could feel the morphine pumping into her body, muddling her head. It was her back; her back felt like someone had slowly cut it open and dipped her in a vat of rubbing alcohol. Then again, she guessed, they had.

"Can you feel anything?" Diana quietly interrupted her thoughts.

Barb concentrated on her toes. Toes were small. She could wiggle her toes.

"Are they moving?" she asked.

"Are what moving?" Diana asked her.

"My toes," Barb said. She could feel them moving back and forth, back and forth. "Are my toes moving."

Diana lifted up the sheet and watched her toes for a very long time before gently dropping it back down and tucking it around her feet. Barb couldn't feel the movement, but she was sure, so sure her toes were moving…

"I am sorry," Diana said gently. "But the operation does not appear to have been a success."

Barb stared at her for a solid thirty seconds. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"You remain as you were," Diana told her again. "You are still paralyzed."

This time, Barb couldn't even muster a scream.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The next week wasn't pretty. She didn't shower. Didn't talk. Didn't move really. Barbara stared at the balcony for longer and longer stretches of time, trying to decide. Bruce had been in her room waiting for her wake up until he got a call that Tim was in trouble. He had apparently told Diana to keep Barbara on the Watchtower until he could see her. Barb had been less than impressed. Too little, too late as the saying went.

Zatanna had been perfectly eager to send Barb back home as soon as she could stand to move. Maybe it was guilt, maybe she was just a really nice person-Barb couldn't find it in herself to care at the moment.

It was Dick who finally let himself in. His nose wrinkled at the smell and the dirty dishes everywhere. Barb didn't even notice anymore.

"I've got an idea," he told her. She ignored him. "I'm going to throw you into a Lazarus pit."

That got her attention. But only because it was ridiculous.

"Dick, even for you, that's a terrible idea," Barb mocked him.

"Think about it," he persisted. "They keep Ra's young and healthy, why couldn't it work for you?"

"They also keep him crazy," Barb pointed out. "I think I've got a big enough helping of that already."

"If it doesn't work I could, we could, I would take care of it," he finally finished.

Barb held is gaze for a good long time at that.

"Would you take care of it?" she asked him seriously.

"I would," he told her gravely.

"I can't ask you to do that," she said shaking her head.

"Barb-"

"No," she cut him off. "Would you let me take care of it? Unless I'm…incapacitated. If you do it, anything else would destroy you."

"I'm not going to watch you hurt yourself," Dick told her.

"Does Bruce know?"

"No." Dick's face darkened, going stony at her question.

"What happened, Dick." It wasn't a question.

"We fought."

"You always fight. What happened?"

"I-" Dick paused, staring at the ceiling over her head. "I was inappropriate."

"And?" she prompted.

"And he hit me."

"WHAT?"

"We were both wrong Barb," he placated her. "I'll forgive him, we'll forgive each other. I just need some time."

"You think I'm worried about him forgiving you right now?" she screamed. "How could he do that? That is so not okay. If I _ever_ get my legs back I'm going to kick him so hard he never has to worry about children again!"

Dick winced at that, even as he smiled. "We all know he deserves it, but I was out of line too. And I'm a grown man. And it's not like Bruce is actually my father."

"And nothing," Barb stopped him. "Holy shit I'm gonna kick his ass. That's…I can't….this is….aaah!" Her frustration with Bruce, with her legs, it was too much.

"He's really torn up about you Barb," Dick said softly, squatting down to eye level. "Really torn up."

Barb turned away, but not before her eyes welled. "We're going to try this. And you're going to let me take care of it, if things don't work out and screw Bruce."

"Okay."

"Do you even know where one is?" Barb asked him.

"Yeah," Dick answered as he walked into her bedroom. "But first let me get a change of clothes. Hopefully you won't stink so much when this is done."

"I'll kick your ass too Grayson," she warned him. "Your ass too." Dick didn't even have the good grace to look scared when he came back into the living room.

Dick had "liberated" the Batjet and somehow managed to get her loaded up. They were obviously headed out of the country, but Barb wasn't concerned. There was a very good chance these were the last hours of her life.

"Where are we going?" she asked him.

"Greenland," he told her through the headset. "There were rumors of a magical cave."

"Why do you think this cave is a Lazarus Pit?" Barb asked skeptically.

"Because a man matching Ra's description is foretold to possess eternal life in the cave."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Dick laughed. "It won't be long. With these engines we should be there fairly soon."

In an hour or two they were over land again, and Dick set them down next to what looked like the Lonely Mountain.

"Are we worried about Smaug?" she teased.

"Air pollution is really low here," Dick answered her.

"Why am I friends with you," Barb sighed.

"Come on Babs," Dick laughed as he lifted her out of the jet. "Let's go get you healed."

"I'm going to come out of that thing a lunatic," Barb told him.

"Well, I probably won't notice the change," Dick said with a straight face.

"My boot. Your ass Grayson. They've got a date."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

There were no words for the Lazarus pit. It felt like she was on fire and being hugged at the same time. She thought she should be choking, straining for breath, but her lungs weren't burning. There was no hurry to get out. There wasn't much of anything actually.

Memories of her life swirled by. Her father and mother. The first time she saw the Batman. Her choice to become Batgirl. The first time she kissed Bruce. She was young and old simultaneously; she could feel her mind fraying under the strain. She understood how it drove one crazy now. The human mind wasn't made to hold every possibility within itself at once. Her body wasn't designed to be newly made and broken down and healing itself all at the same time.

Dick was still out there somewhere she knew, but she felt no desire to stand up.

_Stand up_.

Could she stand up? Why try when she was so perfectly cocooned in this warmth.

_Stand up Babs_.

Babs. Dick called her Babs. Bruce almost never did. It took multiple blow jobs for him to even call her Barb and that was mostly because he couldn't get her full name out. She was pretty proud of that. Why was she here?

_Come on._

She wasn't sure she liked this little voice that was so insistent. Had she not earned a rest? Her body was filling with power. Soon she would be unstoppable, so full of power, able to do anything.

_Stand up god dammit!_

Stand. She could stand. She could feel her legs underneath her. She could feel her bowels and her groin. She could feel her toes as the liquid flowed between them. Placing her feet under her body she pushed up and burst out of the water.

The air was cold, but she was so powerful now. She looked at Dick standing next to the lip and curled her lip at him. What was he but insignificant? A little boy who dreamed of growing up. She strode toward him, gloriously naked stopping when he grabbed her shoulders.

"Come on Babs," he urged her, "snap out of it. Do not go mental on me now."

Raising her palm she executed a perfect strike to his chest knocking him back onto the sharp stone.

"What is going on here?" Bruce's voice thundered in the cave. She smiled with satisfaction as his presence. Barb wanted nothing more than to kill him.

"Barbara," Dick coughed, spitting up a little blood. "I put her in the pit."

Barb watched, amused with the little soap opera in front of her. "What are you going to do Bruce? Hit him again?"

She laughed when he flinched. Standing perfectly still as he approached her cautiously.

"We need to get you out of here and back to Gotham," he said quietly.

"Bruce," she said sweetly, reaching out tenderly for him, "what would ever make you think that I care what you want?" He blocked her strike, but missed her leg as it swung around and caught him on the side of his head.

He went down hard and Barbara wasted no time. Leaping on top of him she began pummeling every bit of exposed skin, and gap in his armor. She remembered them all; he was vulnerable in the joints, at his neck. She was so satisfied with his blood on her hands she completely forgot about Dick. He snuck up behind her, locking her arms in a full nelson and pulling her off of Bruce.

"Let me go!" she screamed madly. "I will kill you too! I will kill all of you!"

Dick's grunts as her feet occasionally connected with his shins were his only response. He held her trapped as Bruce slowly peeled himself off the floor. She watched helpless as he approached her slowly, pushing his cowl back to expose a bloody face.

"Barbara," he said in that same soft voice, "Barbara listen to me. This is the pit. This isn't you. It will fade if you let it. But you have to let it go."

"Why isn't this me?" she spit at him. "You think I don't want to hurt you? To kill you? Do you honestly think I don't feel this way?"

Reaching up carefully, Bruce cupped her face just as she had long ago on her balcony. "I'm sorry Barbara. I'm so very sorry."

She snarled wildly at him, kicking out with her legs but missing as he dodged. She couldn't get her arms free of Dick's hold and Bruce just kept stroking her face and her hair saying he was sorry over and over and over again. She screamed at him, at Dick, even at Alfred and Tim. She screamed at her father and, eventually, at the Joker. She screamed until her voice was raw and then more. She struggled against Dick's hold until she exhausted herself and Dick, but still he held on. Still Bruce kept saying he was sorry.

Finally, days or hours or minutes she didn't know, the rage faded but there was so much sorrow in its wake. She collapsed in on herself as the tears seemed to explode out of her. Her screams shifted to sobs and she dropped when Dick let go of her arms. Bruce caught her, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her as she cried. She thought it would never stop. She cried for her mother. For her father. For Bruce and herself. She cried for every person the Joker had ever destroyed. She cried because those feelings had been hers. The pit may have brought it out, but every emotion was her own.

And still Bruce held her. Dick stood quietly to the side, unsure of his place in the storm. Barb was still crying when Bruce wrapped his cape around her naked body and picked her up. The sobs had abated, but the tears still flowed as he put her in the secondary jet he'd used to follow them. Her eyes were wet as Bruce talked quietly to Dick, hugged him quickly, and finally turned back towards the jet.

Her tears didn't stop all the way back to Gotham.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Barb didn't know what day it was. She didn't know what story Bruce had concocted for her dad. Mostly, she didn't care. Her body was healed, but she doubted her mind would ever recover. She lay in the same bed at Wayne Manor she'd occupied after Bruce saved her and Tim. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She barely moved, and never talked. Except when Bruce had tried to enter her room. Then she'd screamed bloody murder until he left, and Alfred now came in only long enough to make sure she ate some soup. She couldn't scream at Alfred; it wasn't his fault she was here.

The blinds were drawn and the room stayed in a perpetual state of dusk. She figured she had to smell. She hadn't showered or brushed her teeth since she woke up here some time ago. With a brief humorless laugh she mocked herself for her depression. First her legs, now her mind. Better she had thrown herself off the balcony before Bruce ever visited. It was Bruce's fault, of that she felt sure. The Joker, the failed surgery, her shattered heart and mind. She soundly placed the blame for it all on his doorstep. The lamp next to her bed cast a yellow pall across the cream colored silk sheets and she dozed as the shadows on the wall shifted with the sun. Soon Alfred would be here with more soup. Maybe today she would stop eating altogether.

When the door opened she didn't bother to turn over. Alfred would scoot across the carpet quietly, as was his way, set the tray down on the bedside table and begin his inane conversation. She didn't hear footsteps, though, or Alfred's quiet breath. She didn't smell soup, but something vaguely like the ocean and jasmine.

"May I enter Barbara?" a melodious voice spoke into the gloom.

Rolling over Barbara's eyes opened slightly at Diana standing casually in her doorway dressed in jeans and a blouse. Somehow the typical clothing only made her seem that much more spectacular. And then, just as the burst of energy filled her, it fled leaving apathy and lethargy behind. Diana took Barb's silence for acquiescence and entered the room, smoothly dropping into the chair in the corner. She didn't approach Barb or start blabbering. Diana just sat there comfortably, as if they were in her own drawing room, and watched Barb. Mustering what felt like the last of her energy, Barb rolled back over and faced the wall.

"Did you know I run a women's shelter?" Diana asked her. Barb showed no signs of listening, but after a slight pause Diana continued as if it were the most natural conversation in the world. "I can't be there as often as I like, but I work as a volunteer whenever I'm available. For all my power when women stumble in beaten or raped-often both-I find myself almost overwhelmed by powerlessness and guilt."

Diana stopped for a moment before continuing, her voice never changing in pitch or volume as she spoke again.

"The worst, though, the ones that really break my heart, are the women that go back. I think about beating their husbands and boyfriends and pimps senseless. Maybe of taking Circe's route. That would insight real change. And then I become so furious with Clark and Bruce. Can you guess why?" Diana asked her.

Barb didn't even bother to shrug.

"Because sometimes, only very rarely and I will deny I ever said this should you bring it up, they are the most ridiculous, self-important, spoiled, self-righteous babies I have ever had the misfortune to know." Diana paused again and sighed as if it were her cross to bear. "They are not warriors. They don't understand that some things are final and that sometimes, as awful as a truth it might be, finality is called for in a battle. Sometimes, in order to save your own life and the lives of those you love and protect, others must die."

At that Barb did move. Her body, as if it no longer answered to her brain, but to the voice of Diana, rolled over until her eyes locked onto the bright cerulean blue of the Amazon's. Diana spoke again, her gaze never wavering from Barb's.

"I know why Bruce has never killed the Joker, and in the past I have respected both his decision and his ideas of heroism and morality. But, if you ask it of me, I will make sure he never harms anyone ever again."

Barb could only stare as her mouth started working, but no sound came out. Her body was trying to answer, begging for the solution Diana offered, but another part of her-the part she thought she had lost in the Lazarus pit-had woken up and was stopping her voice. Diana said nothing more; she held Barbara's gaze unwaveringly as Barb struggled with herself fighting a war she knew she had already lost.

"No," Barb finally whispered. "No."

Diana nodded once as if she expected that. "Perhaps you would like to tell me why?"

"I-" Barb's mouth fumbled, "I want him…I want him…"

"What do you want?" Diana pushed when she trailed off.

"I want him dead," Barb hissed. "It's all I dream about. Knowing he's gone. Knowing he can _never_ come back. Seeing…seeing him bleed out in front of me, and burning the body." She stared defiantly at Diana, daring her to react.

"I know that feeling well," Diana told her simply. "Why do you stop yourself?"

"I couldn't ask you to do that," Barb whispered.

"I am a warrior, Barbara," Diana told her simply. "This would not be the first I killed, and it, unfortunately, would not be the last. When I kill the monsters of my gods no one questions me. If anything it solidifies my reputation as a hero. But I know monsters, and they are rarely so different from humans. Many are sentient; many are evil. Some fall somewhere in between. The Joker, however he was born, now resides firmly in the land of the monster. This would bother me no more and no less than my destruction of Ares or Medusa."

"I can't…" Barb whispered unable to get the words out.

"You can't? You certainly could," Diana told her. "If it is asking me to do it that you object to, you are more than capable of taking care of it yourself."

"That's-" Barb paused, a rush of rage choking her voice, "god I want to. Do you really understand how much I want to? But if I do…Bruce would never forgive me."

"And why does that matter?" Diana pushed.

"I don't know," Barb sighed. "I don't-I'll never forgive him. So what does it matter if he never forgives me, but it would-it would break him in a way that I can't be responsible for. I can't do that to him."

"And what of yourself?"

"I would be-" Barb stopped, and finally shifted her gaze away from Diana's to the wall, unable to bear the Amazon's pointed stare. "I wouldn't be me then. I don't know how to explain it better than that."

"Then you are not so far gone as you think," Diana said more gently, rising and coming over to the bed. "What you have been through is not something you should have to bear alone. There are people you could talk to, that you should talk to, that are qualified and able to hear the whole story unedited."

Barb returned her gaze, looking up as Diana sat down next to her.

"You think you are beyond redemption, beyond life, but if that were truly so you would have agreed to my offer, and you would not let Alfred feed you," Diana told her, gently brushing Barb's hair away from her face. "But some part of you, however small, has survived this ordeal and it wants to live Barbara. You must stop fighting yourself and let it."

Barb turned her face back into the pillow, but didn't push Diana's hand away. It seemed-it simply seemed unbearable.

"I am going to go get you some food," Diana told her rising. "And if you would like, after you eat, I will help you bathe. You needn't do anymore than that today."

Barb was silent until Diana opened the door, but then called out, stopping her.

"Diana?"

"Yes?" she answered, looking back at Barb.

"Were you serious? About your offer?"

"My goal was to help you rediscover the vitality and passion within you. I thought I might have a perspective that Bruce and Alfred would not. "

"Is that a yes then?"

"I am a warrior Barbara. That has been my training, my life, and the code I live by," Diana told her. With an enigmatic smile Diana quietly closed the door behind her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It only took Barbara two more days to finally leave the bedroom. Diana had come back to see her, and it was her promises of a flight around the countryside-and more importantly that Bruce was nowhere to be seen-that finally coaxed Barb free from the safety of the bedroom. The flight was breathtaking; they took the jet, but Barb persuaded Diana to hover and take her for a spin in the open air. As she clutched the strong body of the Amazon, she felt a laugh bubble up inside of her, bursting out into the wind and ripped away into the air. It was the most glorious thing Barb had ever felt. To soon they returned the jet and watched the sunset from above the ocean. Barb made Diana stay until the last purples faded from the darkening sky.

It was full dark by the time she walked back into the mansion, but Alfred was waiting for her as if this were her regular schedule.

"I took the curtsey of making you dinner Miss Gordon," Alfred said as she walked in. "Will Miss Prince not be joining you this evening?"

"No Alfred," Barb told him, the hint of a smile on her lips, "she has Watchtower duty tonight. What's for dinner?"

"It seemed an excellent night for spaghetti with meatballs."

"Oh, fancy," Barb teased him. It only took a little begging to get Alfred to stay and eat dinner with her, and her mouth was watering before he even finished loading up her plate. Her stomach was acutely aware of her limited diet the past few days, and seemed more than eager to get back to old eating habits.

By the time the meal was finished and cleaned up, Barb felt like her old self again, if only for a moment. The sound of Bruce's deep voice over the intercom was a bucket of ice cold salt water dumped over her head.

"Alfred can you bring me a ham sandwich on rye and my tuxedo please?"

"Right away, Sir," Alfred answered without hesitation and then paused to glance at her.

Barb cut him off before he could say anything. "Thank you for the food Alfred, it was wonderful. I think I'll head to bed now."

With a polite smile she excused her self and beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen, refusing to acknowledge the tingles in her body left behind by Bruce's voice.

Barb killed time in the library. She was too antsy to sleep, and too unwilling to see Bruce to train. She needed to wait until she was sure he was gone before she could have some peace with the punching bag. Looking at the clock she waited until 1:00 AM. He'd be in the thick of things now or patrolling the south side if it was a quiet night. She had a solid four hours before he would be back.

Jumping up and dropping her book on the chair, Barb nearly ran down to the cave. Within minutes she found her old workout clothes and changed. A few after that her hands were taped and she was lost to the rhythmic thumping of her hands and feet on the bag.

Her muscles were weak from disuse; it would take awhile to get back to where she needed to be. But with renewed purpose came the need to be out there, to be swinging through Gotham doing what she'd been trained to do.

Her muscles spasmed as she kept going, sweat was pouring down her face and neck. She would lift after this, then maybe some cardio. Would she still even be able to run a full ten miles? The burn of her muscles reminded her the pain of getting back in shape. She would stop soon, take a break, just a few more…

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Barb spun acting on instinct. Her first punch was blocked and her second stopped as strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, using her momentum to pull her forward off-balance until she stumbled as was pulled carefully, but securely into a giant body. She brought her free hand up, but it was easily grabbed and crossed over her first one, pinning her against the body behind her with her own arms. She exhaled sharply as Bruce's scent assaulted her, and she wrenched her body to the side trying to get away from him.

"Shh, calm down," Bruce's deep voice vibrated in her ear. Her body responded, pain, rage, and shame suddenly funneling into arousal as it sought the familiar release. Instantly furious with herself, Barb snapped at his hands holding hers before snarling back at him.

"Let me go!"

"I will as soon as I know you're not going to attack me." He sounded so calm, so rational. As if it were her fault that she were upset. As if he were doing her a favor and protecting her. Barb felt a killing rage suffuse her; it was nothing like she had ever known before, aside from the pit. Her vision clouded as her heart rate jacked up and she went wild.

Bruce held on; he was bigger and better trained than her, never mind that he hadn't spent the last week starving himself, but Barb felt deep satisfaction as her head connected with his face. He gave a grunt, and shifted his hold, trying to get his head alongside hers without sacrificing his shins. Pulling her pelvis forward, Barb thrust back as hard as she could. That he wasn't expecting.

She felt him go rigid behind her, and she laughed-thrilled at the idea of his pain. But Bruce refused to let go, instead he fell backwards, taking her down with him. Keeping her on top, facing the ceiling, he brought his feet out and around hers, trapping each foot individually and tightened his hold on her torso effectively pasting her body to his.

Still out of her mind with anger, Barb started shouting at him.

"No! You do not get to protect me, do you understand? You do not get to just show up and act all high and mighty like _I'm _the one whose crazy! Do you hear me?"

"I'm sorry Barb," he said, his voice rumbling against her back. "If only I could fix this…"

"You cannot fix this!" she screamed at him. "And you didn't fix me! You didn't show up and see me! What am I? Damaged goods? Too much trouble?"

"Barb," he groaned against her shoulder, her name becoming a curse or a prayer. She couldn't tell which and wasn't sure she cared.

"You're an asshole," she spat out.

"I know." He said it so quietly, so dejectedly. Suddenly the anger was gone, replaced with a gnawing emptiness that never seemed to relent. Barb turned her face into her shoulder, going limp on top of him. She was just so god damned tired.

Bruce didn't let go, but he didn't say anything either.

She was going to leave tonight. She was going to leave and she was going to do her level best to never see him again. The realization was would have broken her heart if any of it were still whole enough to break. But she would have one more memory before she went. She would have Bruce one more time.

"Let go of my arms." He released her and started to push her up and off of him, but she reached back, stopping him. "No. Stay there."

She could feel the confusion in his body, but Barb kept her body pressed to his.

With the subtlest pressure she pushed her hips back, circling them slightly to rub him gently through his clothes. She heard his breath hiss in, and she reached up, caressing his mouth with her hand before turning her body enough to bring her face to his.

"Will you let me do this?" Her voice was a whisper. She could see the tension in his jaw, the way it ticked along the side as his eyes burned.

"I can't-"

Barb cut him off. "Yes or no? This is what _I_ want."

He held her gaze for a moment longer, not stopping her as she reached one hand down and slowly caressed him through his pants. He threw his head back as her hand went up and down again, just the faintest trace of nail applying pressure through the material. Barb could feel him swelling under her hand and rubbed her thumb across the top, teasing him as she waited for his answer.

"Yes." His voice growled as he raised his head, catching her in a kiss.

Flipping all the way over, Barb straddled him pulling her face away from his as she rode him slowly through their clothes. Whipping her shirt off, she didn't stop him when his hands reached up and cupped her breasts. She threw her head back as his thumbs circled under the sports bra, teasing her until he brought a gasp from her lips. Reaching her hands back down she pulled up on his shirt, and he obliged, doing a half sit-up underneath her so she could pull the material up and over his head. He growled as he was forced to stop touching her, even for a second, and then sat all the way up, catching her torso to his as he mimicked her maneuver pulling her sports bra over her head.

As soon as she was bared, Bruce's mouth was on her, alternately suckling and nipping as he fondled and kissed her breasts. Barb buried her hands in his hair, holding his head to her chest as her hips moved spasmodically against his. She could feel him pushing against her through the thin gym shorts she wore and the need to have him inside her made her insane.

Standing up Barb shucked off her pants and underwear. Following her lead, Bruce leaned back and shoved his own pants down, kicking them away from his feet. Barb immediately sat back down, their bodies burning each other as she rubbed against him while he caught her in a kiss. Reaching down she took him in her hand, positioning him at her entrance and slowly sinking down on top of him. Bruce's face clenched with need as she engulfed him and Barb nearly came just from the feel of him inside her.

Controlling her weight with her knees, she clutched his head as he returned to his ministrations of her breasts and began to slide up and down setting a slow, torturous pace. Their harsh breaths seemed to echo around them as the pace became unbearable. Lowering one hand between them, Bruce found her clit with one hand, his mouth still concretely fastened to her nipple. Barb's body exploded as her hips shot up and down with renewed need. She was so close, god she had missed this, so close.

Letting go of her breast, Bruce brought his mouth up to her neck and gently bit her skin just below her ear. With a curse as he soothed the bite with his tongue, and Barb came hard, her body shuddering as it convulsed around him, her nails raking up his back.

Screaming Bruce pushed her off of him as he came, his release covering his stomach and thighs. That was Bruce, Barbara thought. Always so careful.

Neither said anything as their breath slowly returned to normal. Barbara lay next to him, not touching or looking at him in the aftermath. Once she felt like she could walk, Barbara stood and left Bruce confused and exhausted on the ground behind her as she silently got dressed and left the cave without ever looking back.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'm ashamed of myself (ashamed I tell you!) for taking this long to update. It's scandalous really. You're magnanimous reviews are much appreciated and have spurred me on to finishing this little tale. And is everybody else cheering for Babs to be back in the Batgirl suit? The general dubiousness of reboots aside, it might be worth it just for that.**

**Chapter 11**

Bruce didn't do _emotions_. While he would readily admit that he cared for Alfred and the boys-perhaps even that he loved them-the finer details of those feelings went unexamined. He accepted his responsibility as care taker and protector. He didn't shirk away from the necessary conversations about teenage love and safe sex when the time came-conversations he should have had again with himself apparently. He had never in his life been as careless as he had been with Barbara, not even with Selina. That by itself was evidence that their…personal…interactions had to stop. He couldn't blame her. He simply couldn't stay detached enough when he was with her. He never considered how much his inability to detach scared him; that she made him want things, things like conversation and sharing, were merely signs of his tiredness. That episode with the Lazarus pit had emotionally exhausted him and this urge to see her and talk to her, to throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness, was merely a side effect. They had had sex. Because of her role as Batgirl he couldn't cut her off has he had previous sexual partners, and the overlap of his two worlds was the cause of this discomfort he seemed to be feeling since she walked out of the cave.

Rubbing his chest Bruce drank the milk Alfred had left by his elbow hours ago in one swallow. His heartburn seemed to flare up whenever his thoughts wandered to Barbara, and his thoughts seemed to wander to her far more than he was comfortable with. He hadn't talked to her, hadn't seen her, hadn't so much as peeped in her apartment for weeks now. He still wasn't talking with Dick and he guessed the two had rekindled their relationship in his absence. It wasn't a thought he dwelled on long.

The glass shattered in his hand, shards clinking into metal grate as droplets of milk coated his hand. Blood welled on his palm and he absentmindedly pulled pieces of glass from his skin. Was Dick over there now? With her? His cock swelled painfully as he remembered the feel of her weight on his hips, the way her breasts moved as she rode him. Gripping the chair his hips bucked against his will as the smell of her washed over him. He clenched his bloodied left hand, pushing slivers of glass deeper into his palm; the pain only seemed to make his arousal worse, though, and he threw his head back and groaned as he remembered the way she would bite his shoulder when she came, convulsing around him and unable to stay quiet.

Frantically, powerless to fight it, he pulled himself free roughly with his right hand and started stroking his erection. He was already wet at the tip and he tried to slow down wanting the vision of her on him right now straddling the chair, her body engulfing his in wet warmth, to last. His blood pounded in his ears and his breath sawed in and out of him as his arm, oblivious to his brain's command to slow, pulled at him unrelenting. He could feel the pebble of her nipple on his tongue as he suckled her, the constriction around his hips as her strong legs clamped onto him. The pressure built as his cock tightened, the length going so rock hard he threw his head back into the chair aware of nothing but his need to release. So close-he was so close. Barb's fingernails in his back, the column of her throat as she threw her head back, the way her body almost choked him when she came-he groaned through gritted teeth as he began to spurt, not slowing his hand, his orgasm seeming to go on and on.

His left hand fell limp, hanging from the chair, as the blood and milk residue dripped to the floor. His right hand still held his softening dick, the mess of his release unseen through his closed eyes. He couldn't keep doing this; he could not keep letting himself be controlled by these fantasies of her. Even as he told himself never again, he felt another erection harden in his hand. Unwilling to open his eyes, he was powerless to stop the movement of his hand as it began stroking in time with the visions of Barbara's undulations behind his eye lids.

Three days later Bruce knew he was going to have to sleep soon. He had begun holding out until he was literally too exhausted to dream soon after he last saw Barbara. The dreams were worse then the fantasies; in the dreams he actually felt things and not just her body. In the dreams they would talk; he would hold her, reveling in the sensation of her body wrapped perfectly around his. The last time he woke up wet, covered not only in ejaculate, but with tears streaming down his cheeks. They had been in the cave during the last time he had seen her-had touched her. As she stood up he begged her not to go; he had promised her he would try harder, that he would make time for her in his life.

She had looked at him and sneering said, "You will never be good enough for me. You couldn't protect me from the Joker. You couldn't even figure out how to heal me. Why didn't you save me Bruce?" As she left him he had known, _known_, that she was going to Dick's bed-that she was going to give her love, whole-heartedly and unconditionally, to Dick. He had screamed to drown out the sounds of her laughter as she walked away.

That was the last time he had slept for more than three hours.

He had allowed himself a few micro naps over the last three days, but never enough that his mind fully left a state of complete exhaustion. As he drove through the city he was nursing several bad bruises and cuts from Killer Croc; his reaction time had been dangerously slowed and he had very nearly gotten killed tonight. Killed by the Killer Croc-pathetic. This had to stop.

Ripping the wheel to the side he screeched to a halt in an alley and shot the grappling gun before he was even fully out of the car. Ordering it to lock as he flew into the air he took off over rooftops, refusing to examine his actions too closely. He stopped at the edge of the roof across from her balcony. He could jump over there and knock on her patio door; he could let himself in and throw her up against the wall of her living room and be inside her before either one of them had a chance to think through it. Raising his binoculars he found her sitting on the couch, her wet hair curling around her face as it dried. She had on a Rush t-shirt, and he could see her long legs stretched out over the coffee table. Was she wearing a bra? Reaching down to his belt he began putting the gun away, his legs tensing as he prepared to jump the space to her balcony. He froze when she rose from the couch and walked to the door. Someone was there, but who at this time of night? Or morning-he supposed most people were getting ready for work by now, but why would any of them be at Barbara's apartment?

His heart stopped as her door opened and she hugged the muscular body on the other side. He knew; he knew before Dick's face came into the light of her lamp and highlighted his lascivious grin as he starred down at Barbara. With a small smile she shut the door and began making tea for the two of them. They were so…_comfortable_…with each other. There was no awkwardness, no uneasy silences. Dick said something as he sat down on the couch and she laughed easily, stirring the honey as she poured hot water into their glasses.

Using every ounce of his considerable self control Bruce pulled himself away from the cozy scene. He wanted to hurt Dick. He wanted to do more than hurt Dick. Scared of his unacknowledged possessiveness even more than his rage he focused his mind on getting back to the cave. Heaven help whoever got in his way.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Barb sighed as she sat down on the couch next to Dick.

"That bad, huh?" he asked her, putting his arm around her and pulling her head to his shoulder.

"Yeah." They sipped their tea in silence, neither one wanting to go first. As she took another sip, she felt Dick's chest rise with a big inhale. Curling her legs up underneath her she got comfortable and waited for his speech.

"If you want," he began, then paused, "I could try to talk to him."

Surprised, Barb raised her gaze to meet his. "Talk to him? Talk to who?"

"Not buying it Babs," he told her only half-joking. "You two haven't been right for, well, for a really long time now. But lately-I've kept my distance because I knew he needed me to, but I watched him take punches from Killer Croc tonight that never should have landed. I stayed out of it because he pulled it together, but I haven't seen him this bad since before Bane."

Pulling her gaze away Barb stared at the muted TV and sipped her tea.

"What happened?" Dick asked her softly. "This is me, here. You can talk to me."

"Dick," she sighed. "We dated for Christ's sake. I'm not going to talk to you about my…relationships." Pulling away from he she stood and paced back into the kitchen.

"Who else can you talk to Babs?" he pushed. "Before we were anything else we were friends. Let me listen to you, that's all I'm offering."

"Have you thought about how fucked up all of this is?" she said on a harsh laugh, spinning around to face him. "You…I…we were each other's _first_ Dick. We figured out sex and love together. And he's like your _father_. And now I'm…and he's…and it's just way to fucked up to talk about with you." She turned back to the window, tired of holding it together. Tired of _needing_ to hold it together.

"Hey," Dick said softly from behind her, "it's not like anything in our lives has ever been normal. It seems pretty silly to be shocked that our love lives are complicated too."

Barb turned her sob into a laugh at that. "I am so tired of being sad," she told him.

"I know," he said gently. "Loving him has never been easy. For any of us."

"Loving hi-?" she gasped. "I don't love him. Not like _that_." She paced back away from the sink, going around Dick to circle the living room like a trapped animal.

"Babs…"

"No," she cut him off. "You don't get to tell me how I feel. I know what I feel. And what I don't. Do not put words in my mouth!"

"Babs," he said again more seriously. "You do not get this mopey and depressed over a fling. Hell, you were never this depressed about _me_."

"Why are you here?" she asked him harshly. "Really, why are you here?"

"I knew you needed a friend," he told her simply.

"No, that's not good enough. We're done Dick. We're over. We're never going to be not over again. Do you understand?" she shot at him.

"I'm not here about us Babs," he said patiently. "I'm here because it's clear the two of you are killing each other and I can't stand to watch it."

"I'm tired," she told him walking to the door. "I appreciate that you care, and I appreciate that you stopped by. I promise not to let myself get distracted while on patrol. Thank you good night." She opened the door and stood there holding it, but Dick didn't move.

"Let's watch a movie."

"What?"

"Let's watch a movie. You're pick," he said.

"Dick, I'm _tired_."

"I know. Me too. So let's watch a movie together," he paused, "as friends. Just two friends hanging out."

"Why are you doing this?" she sighed, but let the door close.

"It's what I do," he replied with a cheeky grin. "You think I could have grown up with the old man and not ended up stubborn?"

"He is not old," Barb mumbled under her breath.

"Heard that!" Dick shouted as he walked back to the couch and sat down.

"Put something in," Barb told him with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

She woke up sometime after the sun had set. Thankfully she wasn't supposed to work today since she had forgotten to set an alarm. She didn't know why she had slept so long, but it was time to go to work. Looking out her bedroom window she saw the muted color of twilight and stumbled into the kitchen for some coffee. As she pushed the button on the coffee maker, she pulled a clean mug out of the strainer and nearly dropped it with a shriek when she glanced out of the patio door.

There he was. Just across the street on the roof that made for such easy access when she patrolled, but now made her wish she lived in a penthouse. She saw him stand and immediately rushed for the door; her vision red with rage. She was not going to ignore this.

Ripping the patio door open she was screaming before she was even outside.

"Oh no you do not get to just walk away!" She saw him pause, his back to her, but he didn't turn around.

"I will make a ruckus," she said softer, but with no less heat. "I will make sure every person in this building knows you're standing just outside."

He turned, ran, and jumped the distance to her balcony easily, landing in a crouch. Barb felt her breath whoosh out of her on a gasp; why did it always surprise her how fast he was? And how big? He rose, his cape rustling soundlessly around him and stood like granite staring at her.

"Why are you here?" she demanded, more breathlessly than she liked.

He didn't answer, didn't even twitch.

"God damn you," she hissed. "God damn you to hell!"

Spinning on her toe she stormed back inside her apartment, not bothering to close the patio door. He would leave. Or he would stay. Nothing she did would change that, and that was what really upset her. She had no power over him, never had. He would do what he wanted to do, and when what he wanted to do was her she would always feel so honored, so special. When he deigned to share any amount of time with her, no matter how small, she would perk up like a freshly watered flower looking to him for more nourishment. This was not her life. This wasn't _her_.

She felt more than heard him enter the room, his movements always so silent. The patio door slid closed and she heard the blinds clink shut; the room was plunged into gloom-the only light a small one above the sink. Still unsettled by his sudden appearance she turned slowly, shocked to see his mask pushed back. He stared at her without barriers; along with the mask, he seemed to have pushed all of his normal reserve away too. His eyes burned as he stared at her, his stubbled jaw gaunt and his cheeks hollow like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. He probably hadn't.

Her heart seized and her first instinct was to go to him. And then Barb understood. She understood those sad women she had saved over the years who never went to the shelters. She understood why they screamed for her not to hurt the men who, only minutes before, had been beating them. All those years of judgment and scorn on her part, and suddenly, just like that, she got it. Bruce may never hit her, but he hurt her as surely as any criminal she had ever faced. He made her second guess herself and her choices. He made her dissatisfied when she wasn't with him. He was like a drug that she had tried to quit cold turkey and now, with him standing in her apartment in the dark, her body lit up like a Christmas tree; she was a junky about to get a fix.

Disgusted with herself she swallowed tears.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly. At least her voice didn't shake.

"I don't know," he said with a harsh whisper. She shook her head at him and her fingernails dug half-crescent moons into her palms.

"Are you and Dick…seeing each other?" he blurted.

She was so shocked it took her a moment to process the question. "What?"

"Are you and Dick," he trailed off, almost as if it took too much energy to say it again.

"Is _that_ why you're here?" she said, her voice rising. "Because you're worried I'm fucking Dick?"

He flinched at her words as if he'd been slapped, but said nothing.

"It is," she went on relentless. "Why the hell do you care? You would have left me in a few weeks anyway; it's not like we were going to last. Why do you give a rat's ass who I fuck?"

Still he said nothing, though Barbara thought she saw a fine trembling shake his body.

"Always so in control aren't you Bruce?" she said snidely. "I mean you have to be. I do understand that, and it's not that I'm trying to make you lose your temper. Oh no, we wouldn't want big bad Batman to lose his temper now would we? What would you do, do you think? Hit me? Fuck me? Turn around and leave without saying a word and beat some poor drug dealer into a bloody pulp?" She just kept pushing, pushing, pushing.

"Some 'poor drug dealer'?" he finally responded softly. He wasn't moving any more; he wasn't trembling or shaking or even breathing. Barb didn't care if he stood like a statue in her apartment for all eternity as long as he didn't shut her up. Not this time, no-he would not shut her up again.

"The shit of it is," she pushed, "is that it doesn't-_didn't_-not have to work. Between us I mean."

She paused, looking at him as she said that, but his face remained stoic.

"I'm not saying we had to get married and live happily ever after. Hell, I'm not even sure _I_ want those things let alone with you," she remarked off-handedly, "but it's not like you're a sociopath. I mean, you're definitely neurotic, depressed, possibly bi-polar, maybe even-no for sure obsessive compulsive, but you aren't _incapable_ of feeling things. You love Alfred. You love Dick. But you can't love me can you? Is it because I'm a woman or because we had sex? Which of those two things means you will forever be ruined for me?"

On a rational level she knew she wasn't being fair. Rationally she knew he had to be feeling guilty about the Joker, the Lazarus pit, all of it; she knew how he took those things on himself, and rationally she understood that he did care for her in some fashion. But emotionally-emotionally she had never felt it, and he certainly never showed it. The way he had treated her after she was shot, as if she didn't matter or like it was a flesh wound and she was over-reacting-Barb wasn't sure she could ever forgive him for that. It wasn't his distance or his stubbornness, no, a girl couldn't willfully enter a relationship with the Batman and not anticipate being put on the back burner some times; rather, that when she should have been the problem of the Batman, when she was, in fact, the very thing he was focusing all of his energy on-it still wasn't about her. It had been about the Joker, her father, himself. Nothing he had said or done showed any real distress because _she had been shot_. She put up with him, accepted him, loved him because she thought that in his own way he had cared, if not loved, her too. But when the chips were down it was Dick and Alfred and Tim that had stood by her side.

She spun around and gave him her back. The tears were coming now and as much as she controlled her breathing she wasn't sure she was going to be able to stop them.

"What do you want from me?" Bruce finally whispered. "You got shot and I caught the Joker for you. I saved your father. For you. You couldn't walk and I took you to the Watchtower. I pulled in every favor owed to me, created new medical technology from different races _across the universe_ in the hopes that you could be healed. When the surgery didn't work I accepted that it was my fault, that I failed you, but there was nothing else I could do." His voice was increasing in volume now, the deep growl becoming a low boom as he finally allowed himself to react-or couldn't stop himself.

"Nothing else you could do?" Barb shot back. "Nothing else you could do. And yet, here I am walking. Because of Dick." In a flash he closed the distance between them grabbing her arms and holding her still, forcing her to face him.

"Dick could have killed you!" he roared into her face. "At best I knew-_I knew_-it would drive you insane! And at worst…"

"I deserved the chance Bruce!"

"I couldn't lose you," he whispered collapsing onto her. His hands went slack as his body crumpled around hers, and only her reflexes kept his suddenly limp weight from knocking her to the floor. Carefully, she held him as he fell to his knees, his face buried in her stomach as his hands gripped her lower back. He sat bowed, defeated in front of her. "I couldn't lose you."

Her hands buried themselves in his hair and she stared at the ceiling trying to hold on to her anger, trying to remember why she needed to walk away.

"Barbara," he whispered against her, "you don't understand. The problem has never been that I don't care, if only I didn't care. I have always cared too much. About my parents, about Alfred and the boys…and about you. The pain-when you lose someone you love the pain never goes away. People promise you you'll heal, that someday you'll wake up and it won't hurt, but they're wrong. Every day you miss them, every day you're sorry, so very sorry that you couldn't stop it. Every single day."

Her body trembled as she struggled to block him out, to block his pain out.

"When you were shot…I don't…I don't do well with death. I never have." He finally raised his head then and she was shocked to see moisture in his eyes. "I don't know what to do except to try and fix it, to ignore it, to refuse it. I could have lost you…"

"Oh god, Bruce…" she finally broke. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. He held her tightly to him, the strength of his body in stark contrast to the abject terror she felt emanating from him. "I know. I know Bruce. I've always known."

It seemed like an eternity before they let each other go. They had fallen to the floor, splayed on top of each other as emotions too long pent up finally flooded the room. Barb let herself marvel at the moment; she let herself feel the thrill of being allowed to touch this magnificent-magnificent and magnificently broken-man. This man that would never be able to love because he had always loved too much.

"We can't do this Bruce," she finally whispered into the night.

He was quiet for along time before finally saying, "I know."

"We have to let each other go. I can stay out of the cave, and…and patrol…" she trailed off as her throat clogged again with emotion.

"Sshh," he soothed her. "We'll figure it out."

"I'm sorry," she told him, clutching his chest. "I'm sorry I got shot…"

"No!" he cut her off, squeezing her body to his. "No. You never apologize to me. None of this was your fault."

"So this is it?" she sighed. "We say good bye and go our separate ways?"

"Yes."

Slowly, painfully she stood; her arms seemed to wrap themselves around her middle, as if she were holding herself together. Silently he rose and pulled the mask back into place. Bruce Wayne was gone. The Batman stood once more in her apartment forever stoic and unreachable. He walked to her patio and looked back once before shooting his grapple into the night.

"Good bye Barbara."

The sound of the gun exploded around her and she stood mute as he flew away into the night. Moving slowly she closed and locked the patio door then turned and walked into her bedroom. When she came back out her eyes were dry and her mask was in place. The leather of her suit creaked as she stepped up onto the ledge of her balcony and fired her own gun. She sailed into the night capable, alert, and alone.


End file.
